


Bloody Fingers, Lost Love, and Broken Hearts

by Cherry_Art



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pre-Canon, Red Plague (The Arcana), The Lazaret (The Arcana)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23424631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherry_Art/pseuds/Cherry_Art
Summary: Asra comes home after a long journey to find that things have taken a turn for the worst.WARNING: very angsty, character death, descriptions of death and burned bodies
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana)
Kudos: 33





	Bloody Fingers, Lost Love, and Broken Hearts

Taking a deep breath, Asra slowly pushes the door to the shop open, which he hadn’t been in for three full weeks. The space is covered in dust, grime coating every available surface. As the magician continues his way through the shop, his footsteps stir up resting dust on the ground. The shop seemed to be the exact same as he had left it, a snippet of time frozen. That can’t be right: Alya should be here at this time, running the shop. ...Maybe Ilya had her working late shifts? Asra shakes his head- that wouldn’t account for the grime buildup or the stale herbs. It looks like they hadn’t been changed since he left three weeks ago. Frown deepening, Asra calls out softly, “Alya? I’m sorry I was gone so long, and..and about the way I left. I just...needed to clear my head.” His dread grows as he gets only silence as a response, working his way through the first level of the shop. Finding no trace of his lover, he begins to walk up the steps to the shared living area. “Frost..?” The white haired magician tries a new tactic, calling out for the white fox that was Alya’s familiar. He always came to greet Asra when he came back from a trip, yet there wasn’t sight nor sound of the small animal. Swallowing thickly, Asra continues up the stair. Faust slithers around Asra’s shoulders, small purple head peeking out of his deep red scarf. “Friend?” Her voice sounds in his mind, excited at the mention of her friend’s name. Asra bites his lip before answering. “I don’t know Faust, I don’t think they’re here. Maybe they’re out...?” Asra was still trying to reassure himself, even as every step he takes stirs up dust, a sign of neglect. The small white fox was Alya’s familiar, as well as her best friend. They were inseparable, probably more so than even Asra and his own familiar Faust, a small purple snake. He would always eagerly come to greet Asra when coming back from a new journey, or when Alya would come home after taking a trip to the market. The fact that there hadn’t been a chirp out of him the whole time was worrying to Asra, his calloused hands gripping tightly at the strap of his bag in apprehension. He walks to his and jAlya's shared bedroom, nerves strung taught. He does a quick once over on the living room and kitchen before walking to the bed, filled to the brim with warm blankets and stuffed creatures. He takes a deep breath and falters. Though it had gone stale, the scent of Alya was still there. Memories of the fight they had before he left filter through his mind all at once, of how the guilt had filled him to the brim, the hurt in her lilac eyes as she yanked herself away from him. The tears had burned him more than anything, the small drops of liquid gathering at the corner of her eyes before she could stop them, turning harshly away and leaving without a goodbye. Her last words to him had been branded into his mind, flashing bright whenever he closed his eyes: “If you want to leave then go, go like you always do. It won’t be any different than how it is now anyway. I’m staying, I’ll find a cure with Julian.” The hurt burns fresh, the guilt ripping gashes in his heart again. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before shaking his head; he could talk to her, try and make it right. He misses her so badly it hurts. Exhaling shakily, he turns back to the bed. Eyes widen as he sees something he hadn’t before: a small white lump on the bed. Dread bubbles to his throat as he walks closer, clearly seeing now that the lump was Frost. Holding his breath, he reaches a hand out and places it gently on the fox. A lump catches in his throat when he feels how cold Frost is, stiffened into a curling position. Faust slither off his arm and onto the bed beside the familiar, head resting on his fur. “Friend sleep?” Feeling tears well in his eyes, he kneels next to the bed. Not wanting to hurt his beloved familiar, he tells a half truth, the beautiful side of the catastrophe. “Yes Faust, Frost Is sleeping. He’s...he’ll be sleeping for a long time Faust, dreaming good dreams.” Faust tilts her head, tongue slipping out of her mouth slightly. “Good dreams?” He sniffles, offering a watery smile. “Yeah, good dreams. Of you, of me, of Alya, and Muriel too...” Asra wipes gently at the corner of his eye as a tear spills over. Did Alya know what had happened to her beloved familiar...? The thought of his lover causes an apprehension to begin rising in his throat, desperation and the sensation of heat washing over his body followed by the sense of wrongness, and a strange an unfamiliar emptiness. It takes him a moment to correlate the foreign feelings to Alya, though as soon as he does, he bolts upright. Listening to the sense of urgency he feels, Asra throws his stuff to the ground and barely says a rushed farewell to Faust, asking her to stay at the shop as he leaves the shop in haste, barely stopping to put a Cross-Me-Knot spell on the door being urgently following the feeling of distraught down to the docks. People were getting on boats, though very few were getting off. Asra steps up to an empty boat and hands him a few coins. The man rowing the boat gives him an odd look but doesn’t ask questions, simply begins rowing out onto the water. It feels like forever before the boat hits land again, stopping on black, ashen shores. A thin forest covers the front part of the island, while the back is full of black sand. The trees do little to cover the thick, greasy smog filtering through the chimneys of the hastily made building, black ash swept out of the back piling up on the beach. Asra’s mind reels: why here? The Lazaret is where the infected people went. Alya wasn’t infected, why would she be here? All functions stop, thoughts freezing. No- it isn’t possible, it’s not possible. He scrambles out of the boat, urgency and dread clawing his heart with newfound rigor. His feet become soaked when he steps into the water but he couldn’t care less, rushing to the back of the island with frantic moments. His feet sink into the sand as he follows the feeling of dread, finally stopping at a certain place where the feeling overwhelms him. A mound of black ash, piled to his ankles, sits alone in the sea of black. Choking back sobs, Asra drops to his knees and begins digging frantically. Tears fall freely onto the dirt and soot, the grime coating his hands and caking under his fingernails. He digs until his fingers are red, raw and bleeding, blood now joining the tears on the filthy ground. Asra digs until he feels something other than just ash and sand: it was solid, and felt burnt. Asra frantically moves to uncover the object, fresh tears blurring his vision as he sees the charred bones, stained black from the soot and flames. He places a shaky hand over one of the bones and memories flood his mind so fast his head begins throbbing. He and Alya out in the market, the sunlight highlighting the sweet freckles on her cheeks and shoulders, exposed by her white off shoulder shirt. Waking up next to Alya as she sleeps clutching onto his form, mumbling nonsense from her dream. The fondness that flows through him like a river as he catches her creating new clothes or patching up some that have holes. The hurt and guilt that burn him like fire as he fights with her about leaving, the sadness the courses through him as he sees the bags under her purple eyes that have lost their spark, baby pink curls limp and dirty from many nights gone without sleeping or bathing. A painful wail rips from his throat, followed by countless others. His throat eventually feels as raw as his hands and he’s forced to stop screaming, though he doesn’t cease his frantic digging through the area of her charred body. Eventually his fingers brush over a small object, smooth and cool. He picks it up and can barely see what it is through his tears: a small blue gem from Alya’s necklace, though the leather strap was probably burned. A fresh wave of memories washes over him forcefully. The long hours he took to find the right jewel, make sure it the right color. The pure joy and love on Alya’s face as he hands her the finished product, the smile that lights up her face as he slips it around her head and rests the cobalt gem on her breastbone. A sob dies in his throat, skin too raw to attempt to make any sound. He clutches onto the small object with a desperation that fills his entire being, holding it in both hands against his heart. He stays that way for a long time before he begins to slowly, numbly get up from the beach. His joints creak in protest but he can’t find it in himself to care, any protests dying as soon as they come. How could he care, when Alya, his lover, his whole word, was gone? It was all his fault, if he just hadn’t left... Drawing in a shuddering breath, he begins walking back to the front of the island. He had left with an angry, tired lover who he had abandoned, and had come back to find nothing of her left behind. All he could show for his journey this time was bloody fingers, lost love, and a heart shattered beyond repair.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first story on here! If you're reading I hope you enjoy, and that you don't cry too much lol


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